<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>It's 3 a.m. by narcissablaxk</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847918">It's 3 a.m.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk'>narcissablaxk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Now or Never [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bonding, Daddy Issues, Drinking, Drunk Calling, Father's Day, Feelings Realization, M/M, lawrusso</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:42:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Know that my identity's always getting the best of me, I'm the worst of my enemies and I don't really know what to do with me. Yeah, I don't really know what to do with me. I keep on hanging on the line, ignoring every warning sign, come on and make me feel alright again.</em>
</p><p>Johnny accidentally calls Daniel after he gets drunk on Father's Day.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Now or Never [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772686</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>225</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It's 3 a.m.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Father's Day is rough on me and so many others, so this time I put a lot of my angst and feelings into Johnny (haha, hello, projection). If any of you guys out there are having a rough day, you can always send me a message. Sending you love!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was 3 in the morning when Daniel’s phone rang. He almost didn’t answer it; it was three in the <em>goddamn morning</em> after all, or at least that’s what the clock by his bed was telling him, and then his eyes adjusted to the brightness of his phone’s screen and he saw the name on the display. </p><p>“Johnny?” he asked, whispering even though he was alone. Sam, Anthony, and Robby were in the other rooms, asleep, and they couldn’t hear him, but still, he kept his voice low. “What’s going on?” </p><p>“LaRusso?” Johnny’s voice was thick, slurring, and he sounded far away, like he was pulling the phone away from his face. “Shit, you’re not Bobby.”</p><p>“No, I’m not,” he replied, slightly irritated. </p><p>There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask, all of them of varying degrees of importance, but Johnny kept talking, like he hadn’t heard him, and behind his voice Daniel could hear the sounds of traffic, of faraway music, of engines. </p><p>“Where are you?” Daniel asked, forced to grow louder when Johnny didn’t answer, when he realized that Johnny had forgotten that Daniel was even on the phone, and now that phone hung uselessly by his hip while he shouted, apparently, at the traffic driving by him on a busy street. “Johnny, <em>hello</em>?” </p><p>He opened the door to his bedroom and listened intently down the hall, ears pricked for sounds of either of his children stirring. They didn’t stay with him often, not after the divorce, and Father’s Day was one of the few days that warranted an overnight visit that stretched into Monday. </p><p>He closed the door and retreated back to his bed. “Johnny!” he said, as loud as he dared. </p><p>“<em>Fuck you, Sid,</em>” was the response he got, strangled and muddled. He had no idea who Sid was, and he didn’t much care. He was wide awake now, and the more that he listened to Johnny’s drunken ramblings and the sounds of traffic, along with the occasional honk, the more concerned he was for Johnny’s welfare. </p><p>It should have been easy to hang up and ignore the call, especially at three in the morning, but still, Daniel listened intently, trying to find clues to Johnny’s location by just the background noise. What did he expect? It wasn’t like he was going to go pick him up, not at three in the fucking morning. Right? </p><p>And then he heard a car swerve, and Johnny yell at it, and he realized that <em>yes</em>, he was going to go pick him up. He was already standing between his bed and the door to his bedroom, as if asking himself one last time if he was really going to do this. Johnny was a grown man, half of him argued. He could get his drunk self home no problem. And yet, the other half pointed out, he had drunk dialed Daniel by complete accident and was now probably walking through late night traffic. </p><p>If he didn’t go get him, no one would. </p><p>“Shit,” he muttered, tossing his phone onto his bed while he rifled through his closet for a sweater, deciding as he slipped it on that he didn’t care if he was still wearing sleep pants, it wasn’t like he was going to dress up for drunk Johnny, after all, it didn’t matter. </p><p>When he picked up his phone again, Johnny had hung up, the background of his phone screen bright and mocking. He had just missed him. He cursed, pulling up his recent calls and pressing his finger over Johnny’s name in a hurry, pulling the phone to his ear while he fumbled in the dark living room for his keys, trying not to wake Anthony on the couch. </p><p>Johnny didn’t pick up until the fifth ring, and his voice was only slightly clearer than before. “LaRusso?” </p><p><em>Here we go again</em>, Daniel thought. “Where are you?” he asked without preamble. </p><p>“Some bar in Reseda, I dunno,” he mumbled. “Why do you care?” </p><p><em>Oh, so we were back to belligerent,</em> Daniel thought wearily. “I’m coming to get you,” he said firmly. “Do you know how to send me your location?” </p><p>Johnny went quiet on the other end for a long time. Daniel took that to mean that he didn’t. “What street are you on?” he asked instead. </p><p>“Your mom.” </p><p>Daniel closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. Maybe Johnny didn’t need his help after all. Maybe he was just over-reacting, and he could go inside and go back to sleep and forget this ever happened. He was considering it, his hand on the car key, and then Johnny spoke again, his bravado melted away to something softer. </p><p>“Do your kids buy you gifts on Father’s Day?” </p><p>A guilty stab ricocheted through him, and he turned the car on. “Uh, sometimes,” he hedged. “Johnny, what street are you on?” </p><p>“Near the dojo,” he said, momentarily clear, and Daniel sighed, backing out of the driveway. It was as good of an address as he was going to get. </p><p>***</p><p>Once Daniel hung up, Johnny spent a long time staring at the screen of his phone. Since when did he even have Daniel LaRusso’s number in his phone? He didn’t remember putting it in, and Daniel certainly hadn’t. But then again, everything was a blur of color and sound, and every time he tried to focus on one thing for longer than a few seconds, something else would slither by and he would fixate on that instead. </p><p>He wasn’t sure how he got outside, much less how he got to where he was standing now, at the edge of the street near the bar he’d spent his afternoon and evening in. He didn’t like Father’s Day, so sue him. </p><p>Not knowing his biological father made the holiday meaningless when he was a child, and his mother’s quiet pleading that he accept Sid as a father and wish him a happy Father’s Day ingrained the bitterness in. As years passed, the bitterness only emulsified into something harder, angrier, and once Robby was born, his dislike for the holiday was practically part of his personality, inextricably linked to himself and his own self-worth. </p><p>It didn’t help that he was an abysmal father, even now, when Robby was actually speaking to him, making the effort to rebuild the bridge that Johnny had burnt when Robby wasn’t even old enough to understand what it was for. </p><p>He hadn’t seen Robby today – mostly because Robby told him he didn’t want Johnny to feel stressed out by the holiday, but he had wished him a Happy Father’s Day on the phone, telling him, in that sincere way he always spoke, that he was glad they were speaking. </p><p>“Who knows,” he’d said, “maybe next year we could go camping.” </p><p>It wasn’t Robby that did <em>this</em> to him, if <em>this</em> could encapsulate his painfully, wretchedly drunk self. No, it was Sid, it was always Sid, and when it wasn’t Sid, it was Kreese. Even decades later, even with memories that could replace them, they always resurfaced on Father’s Day. </p><p>The only remedy that Johnny had found in his many years of life that worked was drinking them away.</p><p>So here he was, standing with his toes just barely in the grass that made up the side of the road, as if he was contemplating walking into the traffic. He wasn’t, of course, but the wind they created when they whooshed by him soothed his warm face. </p><p>That was where Daniel LaRusso found him almost half an hour later. </p><p>He almost thought he was a dream, or a hallucination. He was thinking about Sid, drowning in the sound of the old man’s voice, in the cadence of the insults, the way he would throw things when he got angry, and then someone was calling his name, and he turned around, to the parking lot, and saw him, getting out of his car, in a grey sweater and plaid sleep pants, his eyes wide and dark and worried. </p><p>It was the sound of his voice that chased Sid’s memory away, at least for a little while. </p><p>He let Daniel lead him to the car, hearing his voice but not his words, feeling the warmth of his hands on his bare arms, and realizing for the first time that he was cold, that the temperature had dropped when the wind came in, the way South California just did sometimes. </p><p>And then they were driving, the little shopping centers slipping past in little lines of color, of neon on blackness, and he was transfixed again. </p><p>That is, until Daniel demanded his attention. </p><p>“Johnny,” he was saying, and Johnny wondered how many times he said his name. “Where do you live?” </p><p>Oh, of course he didn’t know that, and Johnny didn’t even know that for a second either, and then the numbers were sliding out of his mouth, unbidden, like muscle memory. Daniel gave him a curt nod and kept driving, his eyes focused on the road. </p><p>“Why?” Johnny finally asked after a long bout of silence. </p><p>Daniel turned to him, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “You called me, don’t you remember?” </p><p>He remembered hearing Daniel’s voice over the phone, recognizing it and then immediately dismissing it as some sort of drunken trick. Daniel haunted him when he drank, sometimes as his teenage self, all bravado and heavier Jersey accent, sometimes grown, lines around his kind eyes and soft hands. </p><p>Both versions left him feeling bereft the next day. </p><p>“You were trying to call Bobby,” Daniel explained. “You sounded drunk, so…” he trailed off, like he was trying to decide what to say. “So I came to get you, to take you home.” </p><p>The idea of Daniel LaRusso taking him home was appealing. He chuckled, low and deep, almost under his breath. “Take me home tonight –”</p><p>“You are not a singing drunk,” Daniel muttered, a wrinkle in his chin that told Johnny he was trying not to smile. </p><p>“No,” Johnny said, falling silent. It was true enough. </p><p>“Well, come on, Lawrence, if you’re going to sing something, finish it,” Daniel seemed to sense his lagging confidence, or something like it, because he wasn’t hiding his smile anymore, but something told him that he was doing it for Johnny’s sake. </p><p>“Don’t patronize me,” he mumbled, shifting lower in the seat. </p><p>“Fine,” Daniel shrugged, as if Johnny’s mercurial attitude didn’t bother him. They rode in silence for a while, long enough that Johnny forgot where they were going, and then they were pulling into his apartment complex, and Johnny remembered. </p><p>***</p><p>Daniel didn’t want to stay with Johnny after he took him home – in fact, the way Johnny was looking at him during their ride home made him nervous, like he was being x-rayed by someone who wouldn’t know what to do with his findings. Still, when he pulled into Johnny’s complex, he surveyed the other man’s sharp profile and decided at least staying a while would be best. </p><p>He didn’t look as drunk as Daniel expected, to be fair. He was disheveled enough, his blond hair sticking up at random points that made Daniel want to brush it down, but his eyes were wide and clear, that startling blue that always stayed with Daniel hours after the man himself left. </p><p>“Come on,” he said, turning off the car and getting out, intent on helping Johnny out of the car so he wouldn’t trip. “You gotta show me where you live.” </p><p>Johnny wordlessly let him offer an arm for support and took it, leading Daniel to a little courtyard with a fountain that didn’t work, and too much white stone. </p><p>He fumbled a little with the key in the lock, but in no time at all they were inside, in an apartment that Daniel never expected Johnny Lawrence to live in. But, he reasoned, he’d lived in far worse for most of his life. </p><p>“Who is Sid?” he asked when Johnny didn’t speak.</p><p>Johnny turned to him sharply, so sharply he almost toppled himself over. Daniel watched him clench and unclench his fists, his knuckles sharp and prominent. Daniel remembered vividly how they felt on his own skin. </p><p>“Why?” </p><p>“You said his name,” Daniel explained, finding a lamp and clicking it on, bathing the room in a dim light. “When you called me.” </p><p>“Fuck Sid,” Johnny muttered, collapsing onto the couch. </p><p>“Your dad?” Daniel ventured when he didn’t continue. </p><p>“Step-dad,” Johnny corrected, his voice still running words together. “Piece of shit.” </p><p>“Is that why you got drunk tonight?” Daniel could hear that his voice was small in the darkness, as if just barely poking an open wound, trying to bleed the infection out of it. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“It’s Father’s Day,” Daniel clarified. “You asked me – on the phone – if my kids get me gifts –”</p><p>“Go away, LaRusso,” Johnny groaned, covering his face with his arm. “I don’t want –”</p><p>“Well, you called <em>me</em> at three in the morning,” Daniel interrupted, “so forgive me if I think I’m at least entitled to a little bit of your reasoning.” </p><p>“My reasoning was that I’m drunk, and that’s it,” Johnny snapped. “I call people when I get drunk. That’s it.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Daniel agreed. “You thought I was Bobby.” </p><p>“Do you ever just want to get drunk and forget about who you are, and what a piece of shit you are?” Johnny asked, ignoring Daniel’s comment. He sat up, a halting and awkward movement, and let his head rest on his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. “So you can just be someone else for a while?” </p><p>Daniel stared at him, at the way his blond hair hung far enough forward that it hid his face. “Sure,” he said when Johnny didn’t continue. </p><p>“That’s the only way –” he stumbled over the words, and for a moment, Daniel was worried that he was crying, “That’s the only way people can put up with me.” </p><p>“When you’re drunk?” Daniel asked. “Frankly, Johnny, I gotta say, I prefer you sober.” </p><p>Johnny shoulders shook, just once, a huffed laugh that Daniel recognized. Daniel got up from his seat, an armchair in front of the television, and moved to sit beside him. “Why do you call people when you’re drunk?” he asked, his voice soft now that he was so close. </p><p>“Because I’m fun when I’m drunk,” Johnny said, tilting his head just barely so Daniel could see one of his eyes, piercing in the darkness. </p><p>“Are you?” Daniel asked. “Because you seem…sad.” </p><p>“Was my son with you today?” </p><p>The question was so surprising that Daniel didn’t answer. There wasn’t a right answer to give. His eyes went to the other side of the living room and stayed there, focused on something else, while he was anxiously aware of the way Johnny was breathing beside him, deep and carefully measured. </p><p>“What was he like?” </p><p>Daniel looked back and caught Johnny watching him, openly and hungrily, like Daniel would give him clues in his face. “He told me that he talked to you,” he offered quietly. “That you two were getting along.” </p><p>“But what was he like?” Johnny insisted. “Was he like –?” He motioned to himself, to the torn pale jeans, the t-shirt, the stubble on his jaw. </p><p>“No,” Daniel answered quietly. “He’s okay.” </p><p>“Every Father’s Day, all I can think about are them,” Johnny said, and now that he was sitting up, he was so close to Daniel that he could whisper and still be heard. The rest of the apartment stood in silence, letting him fill the space with his voice. “Kreese and Sid and Robby. All let down in one way or another.” </p><p>“That’s not true –”</p><p>“You don’t know that,” he said, and it wasn’t an admonishment. “Maybe it’s their fault, Kreese and Sid, that I’m like this, you know, or maybe I was just always destined to be like this –”</p><p>“What do you think you’re like, John?” Daniel interrupted. </p><p>“I’m like them,” it was a whisper, like a secret, and Daniel slipped an arm around Johnny’s shoulders and held him, his fingers tight on his arm, his jaw set. </p><p>“You’re not like them – no don’t interrupt me, you’re not, because you reached out to your son today, and you let him believe in you. Those two never did that.” Johnny’s eyes found his in the darkness, soft and blue and probably watery. “Robby wants you in his life. That’s the difference.” </p><p>“And what if I mess it up?” </p><p>“Then apologize,” Daniel answered. </p><p>Johnny sighed next to him, heavy and beleaguered.</p><p>“I thought you said you were fun when you were drunk,” Daniel said after a long while, nudging Johnny lightly with his shoulder. “If you’re going to call me at 3 a.m., at least make it fun.” </p><p>Johnny looked at him like he wasn’t sure what to make of him, and Daniel couldn’t blame him. But it was late, and he didn’t want to leave Johnny alone like this, so he was willing to sound stupid to make him feel better. </p><p>“You <em>wish,</em> LaRusso,” Johnny muttered, and Daniel rolled his eyes.</p><p>“Come on, then, hot shot,” Daniel grumbled. “I’m going to put you to bed, and then I’m going home.” </p><p>His room was at the end of the hall, bed unmade, alarm clock strewn on the floor, blinking up at him. Johnny fell into the bed gracelessly, bouncing once, twice, and then settling. Daniel could barely see him through the streetlight that streamed in through the broken blinds on the window, but the orange light bled onto the sheets, and he could see the light wash jeans, the blond hair, the tan skin. </p><p>He turned around, content to leave Johnny safe, in his bed, asleep, when Johnny’s voice called out to him. </p><p>“LaRusso,” his voice was already heavy with sleep. “Where are you going?” </p><p>Daniel hesitated. “Home,” he said cautiously. </p><p>Johnny scooted to the side of his bed and patted the empty mattress beside him. Daniel stared at him, trying to decipher his facial expression, but the light from the window cast it in shadow, and he was forced to guess at it. </p><p>“Come on,” Johnny said when he didn’t move. “<em>Please</em>.” </p><p>It was the please that did him in, really. He slid into the sheets beside Johnny, turning to face him, hoping the light would be better from this vantage point. Johnny was watching him, blue eyes wide, unguarded, and curious. He slipped an arm over Daniel’s waist and pulled him closer, his hold gentle and pliant. Daniel surveyed him as he did, the way he sighed when Daniel relaxed, the way he pressed his forehead to Daniel’s in the dark. </p><p>“How hungover are you going to be tomorrow?” Daniel asked quietly, and Johnny’s eyes fluttered open again, landing on his instantly. </p><p>He shrugged. “Why?” </p><p>“Why don’t you come by my place for lunch?” Daniel asked. “Robby will be there. I’m sure he’d like to see you.” </p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>Daniel nodded, barely moving his head, already preparing to give himself over to sleep. Johnny’s hand on his waist squeezed just once, and then Johnny’s lips were pressed to his, feather-light, just a brush. By the time he registered them they were gone, and when he opened his eyes, Johnny’s own eyes were closed, his face impassive and innocent. </p><p>“Do it again when you’re sober,” Daniel muttered, settling in for sleep. </p><p>“Promise, LaRusso.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>